


Glorious

by emis1967shinyblackbae



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon King! Dean, Destiel - Freeform, First Blade and Mark of Cain effects, In a different way than the actual finale, M/M, Sadness, Season Nine Spoilers?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-01-26 04:08:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1674182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emis1967shinyblackbae/pseuds/emis1967shinyblackbae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Mark of Cain is everything they feared. It did everything they didn’t want it to. Dean was gone now, lost to it, a slave to the urges it presented. Abaddon is dead, the final act that pushed Dean over the edge and into the arms of murder. He is ruthless, he is fearless, and he is powerful. Together, Crowley, Sam, and Castiel will have to find a way to bring Dean back from this point of evil. Only problem is, how does one save the King of Hell?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay look, I know what a lot of you are thinking, "Oh she is writing a Demon Dean fic right after the finale like every other sad sap who is grieving over Tuesday!" Well, you are wrong sirs and ladies. I have had this fic in the pipes for a month or so now and I have just not gotten around to tweaking it til now. I was inspired to tweak at this time by the finale, but not to write the whole thing. (Which is why when Dean went demon on us, I was so so happy because I predicted it and I am ready for what this will entail for our beautiful Dean Winchester.) 
> 
> Okay? Okay. Let's move on.

Red, red was the color that Dean was seeing. Red hair, red blood, red skin. It was all blaring in his vision, clouding it. And yet, he had never seen so clearly. It was assaulting and refined all at the same time. He felt power, immense power, surging through his blood and muscles. The Blade heightened everything for him, all his senses at full blast. He smelled the strong salty iron of Abaddon and her cronies’ blood, the sweat she had broken out on her forehead and his own blood from a gash on his arm. He heard every individual drop of the royal red liquid of the “Queen of Hell” hit the wooden floors. He saw every muscle, bone, and vein he’d cut through when he separated her head from her body.

He heard the surprisingly steady heartbeat coming from his chest. He felt his slow controlled breathing escape his lips. He’d done it…. And he was completed unaffected by it. He could feel no emotion in him, not pride, not happiness, not accomplishment, not rage, not sadness, nothing. He was empty inside, clear and focused. He was eerily still for a man who just murdered about 15 demons and a knight of hell in a matter of minutes. He just surveyed the room and the chaos he’d left it in once the deed was done.

Dean turned around and faced the large desk that Abaddon’s head had been planted on when he had finished with her. She had the oddest look frozen on her face, one of great fear, of what exactly Dean was not aware of. Her hair was matting up with her blood from her neck and Dean just laughed at his former adversary. Abaddon had posed such a threat and the boys and the whole damn underworld had been expecting the worst.

He eyed her head and leaned down to make eye contact with it. “I win.” Dean’s only words in what seemed like hours.

Suddenly, Dean snapped his head toward the blown open doors of the once grand office he covered in blood. He sensed something, a presence approaching. It was weak, but there was just enough power to be slightly concerned. Dean stood strong in anticipation of the new comer and felt his hand grip the First Blade tighter. Dean heard the footsteps of someone approaching and the ruffling of a trenchcoat, and soon Castiel was standing a few feet in front of him, centered in the mess.

Castiel observed his friend, an obvious difference in the righteous man he once saved. After a moment, Cas’s eyes rested on the red mark on his arm, blazing and glowing, and the red stained First Blade in his hand.

“Oh Dean, what have you done?” Castiel sighed, sadness and disappointment clouding his voice and face.

Dean nodded to Castiel, “Cas, I did it. I killed Abaddon. I killed her.” The hunter shook a little, the power still a bit much for his body.

The angel got closer to Dean, “Dean please. It’s over now. Put the blade down. You can stop.”

The eldest Winchester laughed and stood taller, rubbing his thumb along the First Blade. “No, you see Cas. It’s not really over. There is still more to be done. I still have that son of a bitch Metatron to take care of. Until then, this blade will not leave my side.”

“No Dean. It’s ok. We’ll find another way to kill Metatron. This is not the answer. This will never be the answer. You are burning Dean. Burning away into nothing, into something you wouldn’t want to be. Please, give me the Blade.” Castiel pleaded with Dean, his eyes getting red and slightly watery.

“Jesus Cas, what is with you and Sammy both not trusting me or believing in me? I can do this! I know I can! I am the only one who can do this!” He yelled, beginning to pace the room as his anger bubbled up in him.

Before Castiel could get another word in though, more running footsteps approached and Sam came barreling into the room but stopped in his tracks at the state of the room and his brother.

“Woah Dean. Holy crap. Was this all you?” He asked, eyes falling on the severed head of Abaddon on the desk. He swallowed hard and looked into his brother’s eyes, trying to understand what he was seeing, but Dean’s eyes told the story. They were cloudy and piercing, only light hints of his regularly green irises left.

“Speak of the devil, huh Sammy? I was just saying to good old Cas here that it seems that neither of you believe in and think I can handle this. That I’m weak. That I’m pathetic.” Dean ranted, his upper lip curling, his anger starting to really take over again.

“Dean, we are just worried about you. The Blade and The Mark are doing things to you. They’re changing you, making you less human.” Sam explained, stepping closer to his brother.

“STAND BACK SAM! IF YOU KNOW WHAT’S GOOD FOR YOU, YOU WILL STAY THE HELL BACK! THIS BLADE HAS DONE NOTHING BUT MAKE ME FEEL ALIVE AND AT PEACE! IT MAKES ME SEE CLEARLY SAM!” Dean barked at is brother, posing the blade in his hands to strike.

“DEAN NO! You don’t want to do that! You can’t hurt Sam! You know you can’t! He’s not who you want!” Castiel said, stepping in front of Sam.

Dean tilted his head and nodded, “You know what Cas? You are absolutely right. He’s not who I’m after. I’m after Metatron. And I intend to find him, so if you will excuse me, I would like to get the hell out of here now.”

Cas and Sam looked at each other, “We aren’t going anywhere Dean. And neither are you, at least not with that blade you aren’t.”

Dean’s first thought was to charge, but then his second thought, that before would not have even been a possibility, recommended a better option for him. He chuckled and grinned, “Who said I was walking out the front door?” He gripped the blade tighter, and he blinked at his brother and friend.

Sam and Castiel both gasped at the sight in front of them. Coal black eyes shined at them, reflecting their dumbfounded faces. They say the eyes are the windows of the soul…. And if that was indeed the case, then Dean’s soul was charred and broken and withered. It was nowhere near the familiar glow of the righteous man that Castiel once pulled from the depths of hell.

“Bye, guys. See ya later.” And with those words, Dean was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO SO SORRY for all the late updates! I will be updating more often from now on, I swear. I have the motivation and I am ready to go at it, okay? Okay. Forgive me please. More is on the way for the chapter fics, I mean it.

Castiel was frantic, at least in his head. Dean was a demon…. A Demon under the influence of the Mark of Cain and the First Blade. His mind was spinning, travelling back to that moment when he was given the instructions for the first time, the order to lead the siege on Hell and bring back Dean Winchester. He remembered piecing his soul back together, the little light that had remained after all of the attempts of completely turning him still glowing dully beneath the black. He remembered healing the body of the man, giving it blood, removing all scars and blemishes and aches and pains that once plagued the hunter, and placing the soul back into it. He remembered restarting the man’s heart and seeing the imprint of his own angelic form’s hand on the man’s body, a reflection of where the angel had gripped the man from the Hell. He remembered it all, and he fell to his knees, realizing that even after all his wrong-doings, after all his failures, this had to have been the worst. 

He let the Righteous Man succumb to evil. He lost him. 

Castiel did not notice that Sam had gone over to the unconscious body of the King of Hell. He did not notice that Sam slammed him against the wall and began to demand answers, face pink from anger and adrenaline. He did not notice Sam as he began to beat Crowley, repeatedly punching him and punching him. He did not notice when he let Crowley go and the small man slid down against the wooden walls, blood dripping from his face heavily, eyes swollen and almost shut. 

He did notice when Sam dropped to his knees and wailed out loud, holding his hands against his face and sobbing.   
Castiel could not allow himself this one moment, as much as he liked. He needed to be strong for Sam. He knew that. He got up and stepped over the bodies to where Sam was hunched over, crying for his brother. Castiel felt cold, very cold, but Sam’s skin was scolding when he touched his shoulder. 

Sam flinched and turned around, eyes meeting Castiel’s blue ones. “W-W-What do we do?” Sam mumbled, and for a moment, Castiel realized that this is what the younger Winchester must have looked like when Dean had taken care of him. The sadness, the fear, the anger, it was all apparent, and it made the larger of the two brothers look very small. 

“We get him back.” That’s all the angel could think to say, whether he believed they could or not. 

+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+  
Dean arrived in Hell, and for some reason, he felt complete. The First Blade has stopped shaking in his hand, the thing sensing a being strong enough to wield it finally. It felt cool in his hands now, like it was always meant to be his. Dean inhaled strongly and took the smell of flesh, burning souls, and sulfur. He sighed, remembering his first trip to Hell. He remembered being beaten, being brought within an inch of death, and then strung up like a dead pig in a factory. He remembered screaming, crying out for anyone, for someone to come and take him from his suffering. He remembered regularly vomiting when the smell became too much for him. He remembered being torn apart and glued back together again. He remembered it all.

The former Righteous Man laughed at the open expanse of the underworld in front of him. It was all nothing to him now, just a throne to be taken from the saddest sack of shit demon he had ever met. Dean knew that wouldn’t be too hard since he left Crowley unconscious in the room with Sam and Cas. Hell was open to him and he was going to make sure it stayed that way. 

“Hey, everyone, guess who is back in black!” He screamed out to the whole vast view. Grinning, he made his way to the more organized area, the part where Crowley no doubt held his title and kept his cronies in line. 

Dean was met with little opposition, the Mark of Cain and the First Blade being legendary after all. Anyone who did make an attempt to mess with the new King of Hell was going to be sliced into pieces by the man himself. He even fashioned himself a crown, modeling it after the one that Charlie had placed on his head so long ago during that LARPing case. It was all a crystal black and he wore it with pride. 

+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+  
Sam had taken he and Cas back to the bunker to amass some kind of strategy, bringing Crowley along for the ride as well. They had knew that they would need him for something. Sam questioned him heavily and Crowley tried his best to explain to Sam that he had no real idea that the Blade would overtake Dean. He assumed he could handle it, and apparently, he had been wrong. 

Castiel did his best to research what he could about the Blade, but very little information was on it. He knew that if some of his superiors from before were alive, he would be able to get something from them. And all the angels that could even have a smidge of information were desperate to get home so they were teaming up with Metatron. All the while, the angel’s grace dwindled within him. It mostly hit in small waves, daily. A dizzy spell here, a nauseous feeling there, a loss of vision for a moment. His body was definitely rejecting the foreign grace, and he knew that if he didn’t find some way to replenish it, he would truly die. No coming back, no being miraculously saved. Nothing. It would all be over. 

Sam, being too concerned with trying to get his brother back, hardly noticed that Castiel was slowing dying in front of him. He didn’t mean to ignore the angel, but he was far too determined to save Dean to truly see anything else. Castiel often had to remind him to eat and sleep and to stop drinking so much. He was such a mess without his brother, and Castiel, whether he admitted it out loud or not, felt the same way. 

Finally, about two or three weeks into the madness that Sam had thrown himself into, Castiel had realized that Dean couldn’t be helped at the moment, but Metatron had to be focused on because he was getting a bigger and bigger gathering day by day, and they needed to save the world before they saved Dean. It was something he hadn’t wanted to admit to himself, but he knew that Dean would want them to focus on saving everyone else first. 

Sam had just gotten out of the hidden room where they kept Crowley, and he was confronted by Castiel waiting for him in the main room of the Bunker. 

“Sam, we need to talk.” Cas started, but Sam held up a hand to the angel. 

“Cas, not now, ok? Crowley is just about to break. I know it.” He said, grabbing the bottle of whiskey that sat on a nearby table. The man opened the bottle and swigged at the brown liquid within, letting the burn coat his throat. He opened his bloodshot eyes and sighed. He remembered when he ragged on Dean for swallowing liquor store contents within days, and now here he was, doing the same with no regrets. 

“Sam, really this is important. I think we should stop this with Crowley.” Cas breathed, readying himself for the backlash he was about to receive. Sam put down the bottle silently and held it against the table.

“What did you just say?” The youngest Winchester glanced over his shoulder. 

Castiel shivered at the look Sam was giving him, hollow and dark. “Sam, this…. This really isn’t going to amount to anything. We should be focusing on Metatron right now. His forces are gathering more and more and we really can’t afford to waste time on a cause we aren’t even sure will yield results.” 

“No.”

“I’m sorry-“ 

“NO CAS!” Sam whipped around, eyes red and puffy again as tears slid down his cheeks and he was practically shaking in anger. “WE WILL NOT ABANDON DEAN! WE WON’T LEAVE HIM LIKE THAT! WE CAN’T! I CAN’T!” 

Castiel wanted so bad to save the man in front of him, to bring his big brother back as he had done all those years ago, but it wasn’t going to happen. At least, it wasn’t going to happen now. 

“Sam, listen to me. I cannot stress to you just how important it is that we stop Metatron. We will tend to Dean later, but right now, Metatron is the biggest threat and we need to manage that situation before we chase down old wise tails trying to cure Dean of his new condition. We need to focus, Sam.” The angel was pleading with the man, trying desperately to get him to see that stressing and worrying about a problem they couldn’t handle on any level was not going to solve anything. 

“Oh, okay Cas. You want to focus on stuff we can handle, right? I am sorry, but I was completely unaware that you knew a way to defeat Metatron. So please, do tell me how we stop the bastard because if you know then I am all ears and ready to fight.” Sam spat back, running a hand through his wild hair. 

“I don’t have one.” 

“Yeah, exactly, Cas. You don’t know what you’re doing with Metatron anymore than what you’re doing with Dean, so if you will pardon me, I have some serious interrogation to finish.” With that, the man stormed away. 

Castiel sighed as he watched Sam make his way back to his coping mechanism, torturing Crowley for information. His mind was only telling him one thing, “You’re on your own. Dean is lost. Sam is lost. It’s up to you to do this.” He turned and looked around him, nodded, and began tearing into the books around him for some kind of answer for either of the situations at hand.


End file.
